Effing Sad

He vanished, and left her to fend,
His fondness, apparently, feigned.
This friend, who had fawned,  
Now not to be found.
At least the fiend could have phoned.

 

The Mutt and the Mite

A mutt they call Matt had a mite
Crawl under his collar one night.
So to launder his coat,
He jumped in a moat.
Now the mite matter’s moot, right?

 

Scott the Scoutmaster

An unpopular scoutmaster, Scott,
Found a moist paper bag on his cot.
“‘Tis a puddle of poop!”
He screamed at his troop.
“‘Tis not,” they protested, “‘tis snot.”